


Unexpected

by pearwaldorf



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dragon Age Kiss Battle, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And it makes him think of less complicated days, and his father, and leaving Tevinter, and there goes any tenuous sense of calm. There’s nothing less pleasant than having issues one had thought reasonably quiescent reassert quite forcefully that they are not."</p><p>Spoilers for In Hushed Whispers and the conversations it unlocks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Dragon Age Kiss Battle](http://owlmoose.dreamwidth.org/701955.html).

The weather at Skyhold is not cold this time of year, for which Dorian is grateful; but it is unbelievably dreary, and it does not aid his mood one bit. The rain is different in the south, an endless torrent of pissing misery that turns the courtyard into a mud pit and makes non-essential travel difficult. He spends a lot of time in the library these days, attempting to distract himself from the perfect shitstorm of recent events by alternately doing research and making notes of the collection’s deficiencies. 

It’s a reasonably sound strategy, until it isn’t. And it’s not just one thing that breaks the proverbial druffalo’s back, but coming across a battered copy of Marclan’s treatise on veil warping certainly does not help. He wouldn’t say his grasp of the concept was shaky when he was studying for his exams (as if were possible for him to be bad at anything), but Felix certainly understood the intricacies of the theory better than he did. And it makes him think of less complicated days, and his father, and leaving Tevinter, and there goes any tenuous sense of calm. There’s nothing less pleasant than having issues one had thought reasonably quiescent reassert quite forcefully that they are not.

To be clear, it’s not the fact that Felix is dead, although that is something that weighs upon him like a stone; but the complete and utter termination of possibility that comes with it. He has seen the (theoretical) future, and he knows in his bones that the absence of Felix’s influence will make things more difficult for Tevinter and the Inquisition, borrowed time or not. And now Felix isn’t… anything, while there’s an original corrupted Tevinter magister from the dawn of time walking around, and isn’t that a ridiculous thing to ponder? If it weren’t so tragically infuriating he might laugh. He does anyways, although it comes out less disdainful and more incredulous than he was aiming for.

He hears a cough behind him, and turns around to see the Commander standing near his alcove, awkward and ill at ease. 

“Is there something you need?” Dorian is not quite impolite, but certainly not friendly. The Commander just _stands_ there, a mute, overdressed oaf who has obviously come here just to yank the Tevinter peacock’s chain. 

“Well out with it, Commander! Daylight’s wasting, and some of us have things we’d much rather be doing.” Dorian snaps, ready to turn back to his books, even though the task holds no joy or distraction for him at this moment.

“I see this is not a good time. Forgive my intrusion.” There is a flash of something in the Commander’s eyes before his posture becomes stiff. He half-bows and turns to go down the stairs, and suddenly Dorian is filled with a very strong remorse. (Others might call it shame, but that is something people have told him he is incapable of feeling.) 

“Comm--Cullen. Wait. Please.” He stops, confused, but appears willing to hear Dorian out. 

“I must ask your forgiveness for my abominable behavior just now.” Dorian sighs, suddenly feeling very tired. “I do not know how much you have heard from reports or the Inquisitor, but it has been a very… trying time lately.” 

“It is indeed why I am here.” Cullen rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I was wondering if you might like a game of chess sometime? I do not know how agreeable you will find my company, but I can provide a distraction from your troubles, if only for a little while.” 

Dorian appears to be crying. Not much, but there is enough accumulation of moisture in his eyes that he finds the need to dash it away. It is then that he truly understands how frayed he has been by this whole ridiculous mess, because he doesn’t even care that he’s doing this in front of--not quite a stranger, but hardly an intimate. He can and probably will be embarrassed about this later, but for now, it is needfully cathartic.

Silently Cullen hands him a handkerchief. At some point the other man had crossed the distance between them, close enough that he could put his hand on Dorian's bare shoulder. It is somehow comforting when it should feel intrusive, a warm, solid presence he didn't realize was welcome until now. The Inquisitor checks in when she can, but she is only one woman, and currently away in the wilds of Ferelden somewhere. It has been lonely without her, more than Dorian would care to admit.

“That was a disgraceful display, and I regret you had to see that.” He dabs at his eyes, wincing when he sees dark smears against the pale cloth. “And now I’ve ruined your handkerchief.” Cullen’s thumb brushes against Dorian’s skin, distracting him from his more gloomy thoughts. 

“There is no shame in tears, especially when one is in difficulty.” Cullen’s voice is emphatic but kind. “I do not know how they do things in the north, but I will have stern words with anybody who expresses otherwise here, to you or anybody else.” 

“And a fearsome ally you are, Commander.” Dorian quips, feeling more like himself than he has in a while. Cullen’s smile is tiny, but it’s enough to transform his normally serious face into--well, isn’t that something to behold. He leans in and kisses Dorian’s cheek gently, chastely. It is hardly more than a brush of lips but Dorian can still feel them ghosting against his skin. Cullen’s smile widens by a small fraction, a pleased glimmer in his eyes. He makes his way towards the stairs. Before he departs, he stops again, as if remembering something.

“I’ll send a messenger later with a time when I am available for a game. If you are still amenable?” Dorian nods. 

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it.” He heads down the stairs, footsteps fading away into the stone. Dorian sits for a long time, idly toying with the square of cloth in his hand. There will be no more research today, and he’s all right with that.


End file.
